Potter Pan
by The Write
Summary: All children grow up. Except One. An interesting twist on Peter Pan.
1. A Boy and a Question

It was crisp night, the moon shining clear and bright, high above the puffing tunnels of warm chimneys. All was quiet, muted by a blanket of fresh snow as the wind blew through whispering trees, spreading nature's secret amongst their barren branches.

Lights glittered along the streets and turned the curtained widows a welcoming shade of golden yellow, interrupted only by dark silhouettes dancing and mixing together in a lively fashion. Every now and then, the curtains would split and a pale face would peek through into the dark night. Words would appear against the frozen window pane, foggy and hot, before fading back into the chill of nothing. The curtains would drop and the silhouettes would dance once more.

Potter Pan never came here often, as it tended to sadden him, and the long journey home would only take longer with his dampened mood. But when he did, it was always winter and the streets always sparkled. He especially liked the _crunch_ of the snow beneath his feet.

Happiness, there was always happiness here too. Happiness and laughter and joy and—and families. Mother and Fathers that _worked_, and children who went to _school_ so that they could work too. Families that wanted their children to _grow up_. It didn't take Potter long to figure out that everything was about work. Where was the fun in work?

His father always said—no. What had his father said? Who was this man anyway? He was a faceless being who did nothing but chastise and grumble about money and work and how Potter ought to grow up, and how Potter ought to do this, and that. None of 'this and that' was fun.

But those days were over, had been for a long time now. Now, he only did what he wanted, only went by his own rules, er, well, if he had rules. He would go by his own rules if he had them.

It was only when his feet touched the rooftop did he realize these thoughts were bringing him down. He smiled brightly, his eyes crinkling with his efforts, and laughed loud and heartily. "What have I to worry about? I am just a boy, not a man weighed down by the world and its troubles!" He exclaimed to the open sky. The stars winked at him. He winked back.

His laughter was cut short by the abrupt quietness below. He stilled and, with only seconds to spare before the window below shot open, he rocketed forward and onto the roof, landing softly before falling to his knees and hands. Ignoring the sharp bite of the snow pressing against his warm palms, he lay flat on his stomach and shifted closer to the edge and cautiously peeked out.

Hair the color of starlight reflected the glow of the moon in shimmering strands that swayed in the light breeze. Potter watched with rapt fascination as the head swiveled left, then right. He jerked back when the head tilted back and he was sure he could feel those eyes looking up into the space where his head used to be. His breath came quick with the prospect of getting caught. What a rush!

"Did you hear that?" The voice was soft, male. It floated up to Potter's ears as he lay on his back, staring up at the inky sky. He blinked and wondered where the boy had come from. Maybe he had been standing behind the girl in the window? "It sounded like someone laughing."

"Um," Said another voice, softer than the first. Potter smiled to himself. That had to be the girl. "I thought I did, but there's no one out here. How can someone climb this high anyway, without a latter?" There was silence. Potter swallowed and wondered if it was safe to peek over again. He decided to wait, just in case.

"Loves, what are you doing hanging out of the window?" There was another female voice, but it was more mature. Potter scowled. It was the kind and caring voice of a Mother. The kids had done no harm; they were just having a look out of the window. "You're going to catch colds if you leave this window open. Come, let's close it. I've fixed hot chocolate, how does that sound?"

Potter didn't get a chance to hear the answer, but he heard clearly the audible clunk of the window shutting. He sighed and rose an inch off of the roof, still lying on his back. He rose higher, placing his hands behind his head. "Mother's," he mumbled. "They're always ruining the fun. Hot chocolate, she says. Catch a cold, she says." He scoffed and turned upon his stomach, floating higher still. "Glad I don't have one anymore."

A strange mix of feelings bubbled up inside the young boy.

He shot into the air, reaching out with one hand the tickle the flickering edges of the stars above. They were always just out of reach. The air around him thinned, and the cold froze his breath on his lips, but it didn't matter. The sting of it squelched the twisting in his gut and soon he couldn't feel it at all. He smiled, his sigh coming out in a thick smoky puff. He loved coming here, but he hated it too, as it tended to sadden him.

↕ ↕ ↕

The blond boy sat stiff on his bed his eyes sweeping over the room, intense. He raised an eyebrow, and that slight movement alone seemed to pluck at the tension holding their breath tight in their chests. "They say his eyes are as red as blood," he began, his voice quietly layered with mystery. "And that his skin is the color of death." He ignored the squeak of the dark-haired girl on the other side of the room. "He breathes despair and exhales pain like no other, blinding and hot." He smirked and leaned forward, his heart jumping with silent joy as his audience leaned back, their eyes wide with denied fear. "They say he drinks the screams of tortured children from a golden goblet and eats souls, doused in anguish." He paused, and not a single person breathed. They waited, each hoping for more while simultaneously wishing that there wasn't any. "They call him _Hook!_"

That was when the laughter broke the silence, loud and boisterous. Even he jumped at the sound of it as it shattered the invisible barriers of the world he had created. Pansy screamed, the frightened sound muffled by her hands. Blaise jumped so hard he toppled off of the bed with a loud _thunk_. Vincent and Greg grunted in surprise, their bodies drawing taught, meaty fists clenching at their sides.

"What was that?" Pansy's soft voice shook and frozen spell.

Draco regained his composure. He glanced over at his friends, all in a state of hidden panic, then back at the window. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. You're not afraid, are you?" He smirked at them. Secretly, his own heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He unclenched his pale hands from the silk fabric of his pajamas. He stood, his back rigid with confidence, and marched toward the window.

Pansy stood and quickly followed after the blond. She watched with wide, dark eyes as his slender fingers unlatched and pushed the window up. She held her breath as he leaned out and looked around.

Draco forced down the fear building inside him as he looked around for the source of the laughter. It was ridiculous that someone would be up here in the first place, but he didn't want to look foolish in front of his friends and not check. He was sure they would assume he was afraid. He couldn't have that. Nothing, there was nothing. He smiled then, the edge of it tinged with evilness. "Did you hear that?" He asked his voice quiet yet again, as if spinning another story. "It sounded like someone laughing."

"Um," Pansy was unsure now, and the tone of Draco's voice wasn't helping one bit. She stepped back, feeling the warmth of the room pressing against her back like a soothing palm. "I thought I did, but there's no one out there. How can someone climb this high anyway, without a ladder?" She felt more than saw Blaise move up beside her. His hand found her shoulder and he squeezed. She blushed and turned back towards the room, relieved that the moment was over.

She paused when the door swung open with a soft click, then smiled when she saw who came in. "Loves, what are you doing hanging out of the window?" It was Draco's Mother, Narcissa. In Pansy's opinion, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Such elegance, such finesse! "You're going to catch colds if you leave the window open. Come, let's close it. I've fixed hot chocolate, how does that sound?"

Draco turned at the sound of his mother close behind him and he smiled softly. He noticed that Blaise had taken Pansy spot. He smirked at the boy and winked. His mother slid past him, and the heavy scent of roses tickled his senses. "That sounds lovely, Mother."

Draco watched as she left the room, her hands folded in front of her. He wondered how his mother could be so kindhearted, yet his father was just the opposite. He frowned and shook his head, deciding that he wouldn't dwell on such things. Instead he glanced outside the window and, right at that moment, he saw a streak fly across the sky. He stilled, gray eyes widening in disbelief. Certainly that wasn't a, a _human_ flying in the sky? He laughed to himself then, shaking his head. "I must be really tired," he mumbled.

"Are you alright, Draco?" Vincent raised a thick eyebrow. Everything about Vincent was thick, from the shape of his body, to the way he thought. That word summed him up quite well, if Draco had any say.

"Yes, I'm fine Crabbe." He smiled at his large friend, but glanced over at the window once more. There was nothing out of the ordinary. There was just the moon, round and high, the stars, the buildings and the church bell just visible in the distance.

↕ ↕ ↕

Fingertips pressed against the ice-like glass and he smiled to himself, holding his breath so that the fog wouldn't obscure his vision. There she was, the angel he had seen from above. Oh, she was the most beautiful thing Potter had seen in a long time, and that was really something, as the land he came from hosted fairies that twinkled and mermaids with scales the color of incandescent rainbows.

He wanted to get closer.

Floating back a bit, he observed the window, his hand rubbing at the hairless curve of his jaw. A boy's jaw. He tilted his body forward and stared at the hard line where the window was sealed into place. If he squinted, he could just see a latch. His smile returned and he reached out and waved a hand over the area. Slowly, the latch slid out of place. "Yes!" He reached out with shaking hands, excitement growing like wildfire inside him, and pushed up roughly.

The window flew up with a bang. Startled, Potter gasped and shot into the room, thumping his head on the ceiling. Pain watered his eyes and he groaned, touching tentatively at the throbbing knot. He lowered himself to the carpeted floor, hands clutching at the sensitive spot on his head. The pain was nearly unbearable and he could feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks, unchecked. "Bad idea," he whispered to himself. "Bad idea!"

"Boy, why are you crying?"

The voice came from above and Potter looked up, green eyes round and shinning with fresh tears as the pain of moving his head was greater than ever. He blinked and rapidly wiped at his eyes, pushing himself to standing. He balled his fists and pressed them to his hips, schooling his features into indifference. "I was not crying." He stated defiantly. Then Potter noticed who he was talking to. It was the angel, but the angel sounded awfully like a boy…

The angel smiled then, crossing her silk covered arms over a flat chest. "You were. You were crying just now." She frowned then and looked Potter over. "Who are you? And why are you in my room?"

Potter smiled then and took a step forward, thrusting out a dirt-smudged hand. "Potter, Potter Pan, also known as The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow up."

The angel stared at his hand, looking at it as though it was covered in, well, dirt. She looked back up into his eyes. "Potter Pan?" She asked instead, "What sort of name is that?"

Potter let his hand drop to his side, and he tilted his head of unruly black hair to the side. "My name, of course. And what is yours?"

"Draco," The angel stated immediately, and then scowled when Potter giggled. "What? Why are you giggling?"

"I did not giggle!" Potter giggled again. "It's just, your name, it sounds…strange for a girl." He clasped his hands over his mouth and his giggles turned to laughs.

"A girl?" The angel was clearly insulted. "Yes, that is a strange name for a girl. It's a good thing that I'm not one, isn't it?"

Potter stopped laughing and looked doubtful. He removed his hands from his mouth. "You're…not a girl?" His face tinged with pink.

"No, I am not!" Draco wrinkled his nose. He hated when people made that mistake. He was a boy, just like any other. He had all the right bits for it, at least. "How very rude of you."

Potter was silent for a moment then shook his head, eyes squinting accusingly. "I don't believe you." He took a step forward. "Your hair, it's long and pretty. Your face, it's soft and you have long lashes, _and_ you're wearing silk. Only girls wear silk." He stated confidently.

"Boys can wear silk too!" Draco protested, his arms falling from his chest as his hands clenched tightly. "My mother says that I look handsome. Girls can't look handsome can they?" He couldn't believe the audacity of this boy, this boy who was a stranger standing in _his_ room, telling _him_ that he looked like a girl. And what was he wearing? It looked like he was wrapped in vines and tree leaves. Draco could clearly see his stomach and a bit of his chest too. It was most inappropriate attire for the cold season. His hair, it was ghastly, sticking up all over the place! There were smudges of dirt everywhere Draco looked. To shake his hand would be to risk physical illness.

"That's a poor argument, Draco." Potter leaned closer to the boy, feet lifting from the carpet. He hovered closer ignoring the way the blond scooted further and further up his bed in an attempt to get away. "You have nice eyes too."

Draco rolled off of his bed, eyes wide as they stared at the floating stranger. "You're…you're flying! How the—bloody he—I'm dreaming!"

"You're not!" Potter suddenly had a strange spark in his eye, the one that always came to life when something adventurous presented itself. He floated over to Draco and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You could fly too, if you wanted to Draco." _Then, you would be a real angel._ He thought to himself.

A shock ran down Draco's arm from the point of contact. He shivered all over as an odd sensation spread throughout him. He stared at Potter for a long time, the silence stretching like a rubber band at its breaking point. His eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"You felt the magic, didn't you? How can you deny it?" Potter's smile widened, if that was possible. "Just think happy thoughts."

"Happy thoughts?" Draco repeated. "That's all it takes?" Hope flared inside him. He could fly if he wanted to?

"Well," Potter shrugged, and then nodded. "You have to believe too. Without believing, nothing is possible."

"Happy thoughts." Draco looked over at Potter, his head tilted up slightly, as the boy was taller than him. "I don't think I have any." He said solemnly. He wouldn't be able to fly.

"Everyone has happy thoughts." Potter smiled.

Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch in response. The boy was so positive. Instantly, the word naïve came to mind. "Not everyone." He insisted. He couldn't think of any moments where he had been truly happy.

"Close your eyes. I'll help you." Potter kept his hand firmly on his angel's shoulder. _His angel_, he liked the sound of that. There was another happy thought to add to the roaring sea he already had teeming with them.

Draco gave him a look but closed his eyes anyway. "Okay."

"Think of your favourite sweet, think of a room full of it! Think of warm nights and snowmen and laughing and playing out in the rain. Think of hot bathes and secrets. Think of adventures and danger! Think of a place where the animals stop and have conversations with you, and where there are pirates and fairies and elves and _flying_!"

It all sounded great whispered into his ear. Draco could picture this world and all of its glory. He could see the fat blossoms of flowers stretched over rolling hills. He could see mythical creatures darting through thick, ancient trees. He could taste the butterscotch on his tongue, familiar and addictive.

"Open your eyes." Potter whispered.

Draco did. He looked straight into Potter. His eyes, they were dazzling, like emeralds caught in the sun's light. He watched as those eyes glanced down and his followed. His heart jumped and he squealed, a sound he would never admit to making. He reached out and gripped Potter's arms and yanked the boy toward him. "I'm flying!" He gasped. His eyes fluttered between Potter and the room below. "I'm flying!" He laughed cautiously at first, and then it burst from him in stuttering streams.

Potter laughed with him.

"Draco?"

The blond's eyes widened at the sound of his name. His mother was just outside the door. "Quick! Set me down!"

Potter lowered them both to the ground and Draco shooed him away, whispering a harsh "Hide!" The optimistic stranger flew off to hide in a dark, shadowed corner.

Draco bolted for his bed and threw himself into the soft sheets. He stumbled under them, yanking them up to his chin. He shifted on to his back and forced himself to breath slowly, despite the protesting of his lungs. The door opened and his mother stepped inside.

She paused in the doorway, and surveyed the room. She felt a chilly breeze and found that the window was open again. She frowned and walked over to it, leaning out just a bit and looking off to the side. She sighed and leaned back in, closing the window and shutting it. "I keep telling him to keep this window closed. He'll get sick if he isn't already." She latched the window and turned towards Draco's sleeping form. Smiling to herself, she walked over and leaned down, sweeping away long strands of pale hair to kiss his forehead. "Goodnight, Draco." She lingered for a moment and then took her leave.

Potter sank down from the shadows and landed silently in front of Draco. When the blond opened his eyes, he got an eyeful of a blinding smile. He jerked back, then rolled his eyes. "Ever heard of personal space?"

Potter chuckled, "Personal space?" He asked innocently.

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Very funny." He sat up then, and glanced at Potter.

They stayed in silence for a while, Potter staring at Draco curiously, and Draco throwing glances at the rugged boy.

"Come with me." Suddenly, Potter was floating in front of Draco, their faces so close that the young blond could see every dark lash and every fleck of dirt.

Draco jerked back, his hands falling behind him to support him. He fisted clumps of soft fabric. "Come with you where?" He asked wearily.

"To the place I talked about earlier. You'll love it, Draco." Potter turned belly up, smiling at him upside down.

"What place? You never told me about any place."

"Oh, but I did." Potter floated up into the air, tucking himself into a small ball then spreading out like a five-point star. He cart wheeled through the air. "The place I told you about to help give you happy thoughts. It's a real place."

"But pirates aren't real, and neither are fai—"

Potter barreled forward and slapped his hand over Draco's mouth. "Don't. Say it." His gaze grow somber, his voice grave. "Every time someone says they don't believe, a fairy drops dead. Promise me you won't say it again. Promise!" He was almost desperate, his voice pleading softly.

Draco nodded quickly, eyes wide.

Potter dropped his hand and sank down to sit in front of the fair angel. "So, will you come with me?"

"What about my parents?"

Darkness flashed through those emeralds before it was replaced with mirth. "What about them?"

"They'll be worried about me. And my friends. I can't just leave them."

Potter smiled, not deterred one bit by his angel's words. He lifted off of the bed, taking one of Draco's hands in his own. He floated backwards and Draco followed, staring. "What will it matter? We'll have so much fun when we get there. Neverland is filled with adventures. There are too many of them for me to experience on my own. There will be no parents, no one to tell you what to do. You can do what you want, whenever you want."

"Neverland?" Draco asked, his brow dipping just slightly. "Where is it? I've never heard of it."

"Second to the right and straight on 'til morning." Potter beamed, glancing behind him. They had reached the window; Potter could feel the cold against his bare shoulders. It lifted. Cold air sailed through, tousling their hair with frozen fingers.

Draco turned towards his room, his eyes sweeping over the expensive toys, the oak dressers, the large bed and warm comfortable sheets. His heart squeezed in his chest, beating a desperate rhythm.

"What have you got to loose?" Potter whispered to him.


	2. Star Dust and Neverwood

Cold air lifted them towards the starry sky, nipping at fingers and toes.

Two hands were clasped tight, one pale and shaking and the other bronze and confident.

"Open your eyes."

"No,"

Potter smiled and squeezed the shaking hand in his. "But it's beautiful. All of the lights twinkling and the little tiny dots of the people walking below. Not to mention the coat of white over everything…"

He painted a beautiful picture and Draco was tempted but fear quelled it fast with the wind flicking at strands of feathery hair. "If I open my eyes I will fall."

"I won't let you fall," Potter said almost intensely. "You have to trust me."

There lay the problem. Trust. "I've only just met you."

"Have you fallen yet?" They slowed to a stop and the cold of the night seemed to drift away with the scattered clouds. "And the moon, Draco. It's almost as if you can touch it."

The words were whispered so close that Draco jumped, gray eyes flying open in alarm. He was caught in shining green that held him tight. "Look," Potter said and turned his head to the left. Draco did look.

He gasped. Full and bright and pocked with smudges of gray was the moon, so large it looked as though it could swallow them whole. All at once he felt small and large. How many people were able to see the moon so close, so big and so full? "Potter, how…?"

The young boy giggled and gripped Draco's other hand in his, a soft press of skin on skin and the reassurance of fingers curling tight. "Will you look down now?"

Draco didn't think he could tear his eyes away from Luna. He spotted the Man on the Moon, the famous face that every one could see if their minds were open. He barely registered the fact that they were moving again. Only when the moon darkened Potter into a black silhouette did he realize they were traveling. His eyes slipped from the silvery orb to Potter's face, shadowed in the moon's glow. He could just see the tipped corner of his mouth. Potter was smiling.

"I knew you would like it."

"It was..."

Potter nodded as if he knew exactly what it was. "Yes, it was, but you're not supposed to stare at the moon for too long. You can get lost in her beauty."

Draco looked at him doubtfully.

Potter shrugged. "We've still got a ways to go Draco," His face grew solemn. "Unless you've changed your mind."

Draco realized the statement for what it was and he as grateful. Potter was giving him a chance to change his mind. He thought about it for a moment. Maybe it wasn't so wise to float off to a place he'd never heard of with a strange boy. Maybe it wasn't wise to have left without a note. Maybe it wasn't wise…but it was an adventure and Draco had yet to have one of those.

"I'm coming with you."

Green eyes seemed to glow of their own accord then, and Potter smiled so blindingly bright, full of charm and promise and secrets.

Suddenly they were no longer touching, and Draco was left to float on his own. "Potter—give—your hand!" Pale fingers stretched wide, clutching at air as panic filled the soft, pleading voice.

Potter didn't give the angel his hand. Instead he just smiled on and lifted his leg. "Grab my ankle and hold on tight. Don't let go, Draco, or I'll lose you in space."

"But, what—" Draco grabbed the thin tanned ankle in front of him, noting with unconscious disgust that the foot connected was dirty, streaked with what he hoped was mud. And they were off, his words forced back down his throat with the speed in which they flew through the air. It was then that he realized he would need both hands for this ride. Barely, Draco managed to grip Potter's ankle with his other hand before the speed became too much.

↕ ↕ ↕

Her dress swished lightly as she bunched the silky clumps in slender fingers, ascending the stairs to the two quiet rooms once more.

On the landing she was stopped by the nanny, Poppy, and was asked if everything was alright. She gave a delicate nod and a soft smile. Poppy watched her as she entered the room of her son.

Everything was as it had been, the moon still drifting in through the spread curtains and falling just short of Draco's bed. The floor was clear of any toys as she had asked and his clothes were neatly folded and set in a chair by the small bathroom attached to the room.

Then her eyes fell on the covers, rumpled and thrown aside. The bed was empty. She smiled and smoothly changed her direction towards the bathroom. She lifted one hand and gently knocked on the wooden door with sharp knuckles. "Draco, love, are you in there?"

There was no reply, only empty silence. She knocked again and this time she touched the door knob, giving a clear warning of her entrance. The door opened with a soft click, the slide of metal against wood, and…and the bathroom was empty. "Draco?" She called uncertainly. There was no answer as expected.

"Poppy," She called rather urgently, forgetting to keep the hem of her dress from dragging on the floor as she fled the bathroom. The nanny was at her side in an instant. "Poppy, have you seen Draco?"

Poppy glanced at Draco's bed and saw it empty, then towards the bathroom. Clearly he was nowhere in the room. Poppy's old eyes grew wary as she stared at Mrs. Malfoy. "Oh," She said, her voice faint, her hand shaking as it covered her thin lips. "Oh," She said again.

Narcissa shook her head. "No, not now, I've done everything!" She whispered and shook her head again, thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders, obscuring one side of her graceful face.

Poppy gathered her self, as there could not be two broken women. One of them had to be levelheaded and one of them had to figure this out. "We will have to inform Mister Malfoy," she said calmly and reached for Narcissa's hand.

"But," Narcissa froze and her dark eyes glazed with realization. "Oh," She shook then, from the inside out, her pale cheeks coloring. "He was here. I was in the same room as he."

Poppy frowned.

"Yes," Narcissa looked at Poppy, "I could feel him, I could feel him Poppy!" Tears welled in her eyes. "I just let him i go /i , Poppy, I let him i take /i Draco!"

"No," Poppy said and Narcissa closed her eyes, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "We should have known we couldn't stop fate. It was bound to happen, Miss Narcissa. We couldn't stop it. Delay it, yes, but not stop it. It's written down in History already. We have to let Draco do this. We have no choice." She spoke softly, and her words seemed to cut the flow of tears from Narcissa. "Shall we tell Mister Malfoy now or wait until morning? I can act as if I were the one who discovered it."

Narcissa pondered this for a moment, and then shook her head. "Lucius is quite observant. He will know if something is wrong and I will have to tell him anyway." She looked into Poppy's wise eyes. "But, I should like it if you came with me."

↕ ↕ ↕

Bursting like ripe grapes in colors that Draco couldn't even fathom were possible, were stars so bright and so close that he could feel the heat of their life against his skin and through his hair. It was brilliant and blinding and scary all at once but he couldn't look away, couldn't close his eyes against their shine for fear of missing something amazing. He wasn't even aware he was laughing until he was out of breath and his throat throbbed with its efforts.

He was euphoric, giggly even. Draco didn't ever remember feeling i this /i light.

Potter knew why, though. It always affected the new ones like this on their first trip through the stars. Star Dust was powerful stuff and there was no short amount of it here in space. They were flying in the midst of it, in masses yet so thin that they barely realized they were inhaling it. He could go another way if he wanted but this way always made him forget when he needed to.

Space sucked them through its depths and they sliced through the air at speeds that would kill if they were not guided by the supernatural belief that they were untouchable, unable to be harmed or killed. Children often believed themselves invincible.

"The stars, they're blinding! They're beautiful. Potter! What color is i this /i one?" But they had already passed the star.

Everything changed then and Draco was too caught up counting colors to realize that they had been heading for a pool of rolling white.

The two boys tumbled into the soft clouds, their fall cushioned by the resistance of each layer they broke through until they drifted softly onto a particularly thick cluster of clouds.

Draco sensed the change the second he breathed in.

Magic.

It was everywhere, in the air, weaved into the clouds, in Potter's smile, in his clothes and even ground into the dirt on his cheek. And it was a feeling. Heady and pulsing in his veins, it was. Magic that was old and ancient and made everything seem…alright.

The two children lay there, one hand clasped around an ankle, breathing deep gulps of fresh, tangy air.

Draco smelled salt and sea and something sweet and fragrant. It made his stomach roll with hunger and his mouth water. His eyes drooped heavily and he smiled lazily, the Star Dust still running strong in his system. If he could lie there forever he would, just lie there and feel warm and safe and i forever /i .

Potter sighed wistfully and rolled over on the thick clouds until he could feel the silk of the angel's clothing against his naked arm. He turned his head and whispered lightly, "Draco, would you like to sleep here? You look awfully tired."

Draco closed his eyes and nodded, murmuring inaudibly.

Potter smiled. "I'll watch over you. Sleep." Seconds later Draco was dead to the world. Potter watched him for a moment, having seen this sleep before, the aftereffects of Star Dust. "Sleep well," He whispered before rolling over onto his side, burying his fingers in the cotton-like clouds and pulling a layer of the soft, thick fluff over them.

↕ ↕ ↕

"Captain, sir."

The word was whispered in the silence of the room. The voice was unmistakable. He scowled at being interrupted, his fingers halting over the ancient keys of his piano. "Come in," he said darkly, his voice deep and resonant. His broad shoulders heaved up and down with the sigh of a thousand troubles tumbling from his lips. He didn't bother to sweep the few strands of greasy black hair from his eyes, or adjust the way his thin shirt had slipped from his shoulder to expose pale, scarred skin.

There was a soft squeak and the rush of warm air and something sweet. He knew before the man spoke.

"Pans back." They said in unison.

Silence followed, heavy and strained.

"He was gone longer this time." He turned back to his piano and plucked a few random keys, hiding the unsteady way his hand moved.

"Do you think…?"

"I do." He sighed and stood abruptly, the bench he had been sitting on scrapping sickeningly against the wooden floor. "The smell, it's absolutely i horrible /i . I can't stand it."

"The air too, sir, the air."

"The air." He spat, and then, literally, he spat. The air was warm and breezy and perfect for anyone else. But for Hook, it was torture. He preferred chilly biting winds and barren trees.

"He won't fulfill the prophecy. There is no way. He's… Pan. He will never grow up."

"What if he does? Where will that place us?" There was that silence again, ominous and heavy. "Exactly." He rubbed absently at his wrist, the one missing a hand. "We can't let it happen. We'll do anything to stop it." His bloodshot eyes cut to Smee when there was no reply. "Right?" He forced between yellow teeth.

"A-anything, sir, yes."

↕ ↕ ↕

All he could see were the great pools of shinning green staring down at him in wonder. The warmth of a hand pressing into his palm brought him further into a conscious state. There was a soft tinkling nearby, and the smell of earth and leaves was thick in the air. The ground was soft and comfortable.

And then he remembered.

He remembered the laughter outside his window, the flying stranger, the hope. He remembered the vague snatches of stars and the curl of the Milky Way. Maybe he had dreamed that, surely he hadn't seen all of those beautiful yet impossible colors, surely his body had not flown through space and he had not felt the heat of the stars on his skin.

Draco started, his eyes growing wide.

Potter jumped back with a frown. "Draco?"

"Where are we?" Draco demanded.

Potter smiled tentatively. "Neverwood,"

Draco frowned, his lips moving but no words following.

Potter slowly floated closer. "I brought you here to have adventures with me." He straightened then, and placed his fists firmly on his hips. "Don't you remember?" He asked.

Draco stared at the boy. "Prove it to me. Prove that this is not a dream."

It sounded like a challenge. Potter _loved_ challenges. "I can show you, but you will have to close your eyes first."

Draco smirked, and the dark-haired boy thought how much the look fit him. "How can you show me something if my eyes are closed?"

Potter chuckled and floated forward. "I'll show you as soon as we get there." He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

"Get where?" Draco asked.

Potter only held out his hand, waiting with that mysteriously promising smile.

Draco stared at it and decided that it did look cleaner. He took it with sigh.

"Eyes," Potter said, his fingers curling around his guests' hand. The skin on the back was smooth and he couldn't help running his calloused thumb over it absently.

"How do I know you won't try to kill me?" Draco asked, then immediately regretted it. Potter's teasing smile crumbled into a mixture of hurt and surprise.

"I would _never_ try to kill you, Draco. You can trust me." His voice was soft and with his words came a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, nodding.

Potter's smile returned and Draco felt the ground slowly fall from beneath him as they rose. Potter pulled the slender boy closer to him and could feel the tenseness of his body by the way his arm was so stiff and his hand gripping so tightly.

Draco clung to Potter's hand, fighting the strong urge to find his other hand and grip it too; he felt so lost and disoriented floating about. He felt that at any moment he would smack into something hard, but he knew Potter would never allow that to happen. He didn't know how he knew, he just did. He trusted.

Draco heard the groan of what sounded like vines and suddenly he felt the heat of the sun on his face as light shot through the thin skin of his eyelids. He flinched at the abrupt brightness. A thin breeze ruffled his silky hair and teased his skin. It was hot outside and the air was weighed down with forest sounds.

A hand gripped his wrist. "Let go," Potter whispered. "I'll place your arms around my neck instead. We will get there faster that way."

Draco didn't protest.

Potter lifted the boy's arms and wrapped them around his neck, excitement buzzing in his stomach. There was another feeling there too, one he hadn't felt in so long that he almost didn't recognize it. Nerves; he was nervous. Would Draco like what Potter had to show him? Would he hate it? Oh, he hoped not, after all, this place was one of Potter's favourite places to go in Neverland.

Potter leaned forward once Draco's arms were secured. The wind blew against him, and the sun beamed down, kissing his face. He laughed at the feel of it all and at the strangeness of having someone to share it with. "Keep your eyes closed, Draco!" he laughed. Potter shot off through Neverland, winding through thick trees and swinging limbs. He absently felt Draco's thighs press against his hips over the joy twisting in his stomach at the sound of the blond's laughter against his neck.

↕ ↕ ↕

Potter set Draco down in an open clearing where the sun peeked down through thin leaves. Trees crowded around the area, their limbs providing a scarce canopy but only the special ones could stand amongst the cluster of flowers. These trees were chosen to guard them. The flowers were special too, as none of them had blossomed yet. But that wasn't the only reason.

Potter came to stand behind Draco, placing his arms at his sides. He took a deep breath. "Open your eyes, Draco."

Draco opened his eyes. The place was beautiful and so full of color that it seemed surreal. There were little groups of different colored flowers scattered in a shaded opening, the greens popping vibrantly against the reds and oranges. He could hear the constant chattering of insects and animals which only seemed to add to the beauty. It was a breathtaking sight. But, if he were honest with himself, everything up to this point seemed surreal. He took a step toward a clump of flowers but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You have to ask the trees for permission first." Potter informed him in a hushed tone.

"Ask the trees?" Draco repeated.

Potter nodded, taking Draco's curiosity as a good sign and allowing a smile. "Watch," he stepped forward, his face taunt with confidence. He marched a slow, safe distance from the tree and stopped.

"Tree who guards these pretty flowers, may I be allowed to laze in their presence?"

There was silence and Draco watched in rapt fascination as the tree limbs seemed to lift towards the sky then lower down again. It seemed as though the wind whispered a yes.

Potter bowed then, and stepped among the flowers and plopped down, smiling winningly at Draco. "Your turn."

Draco shook his head. "What happens if the tree gets angry?" He asked.

Potter frowned. "I don't know, they'll fight you I suppose." He offered no consolation.

Draco's heart pounded but if Potter could do it, so could he, so he nodded and assumed the same posture as Potter had, never to be outdone, and matched the same confident, yet cautious stride toward the tree, stopping in the same spot as the young adventurer had. He opened his mouth to speak but his mind drew blank. He had forgotten the words! Panic began to set in. Would the tree be offended by his lack of knowledge? Would it fight him for his trouble? Would--

And then he heard Potter whispering. He was telling Draco the words! "Tree who guards these pretty flowers..."

Suddenly Draco remembered the words, and he recited them, quieting when it came time for the tree to decided. He watched as the branches lifted, his heart seeming to stop, and then they lowered. Again there was a whispered yes. He sighed as relief flooded him. A smile expanded across his face, matching Potter's own.

"You did it!" Potter exclaimed when Draco sat beside him in the flowers.

Draco laughed lightly and nodded. "I thought I was a goner for a moment!" He admitted.

"I had no doubt you could do it." Potter said with such seriousness that Draco found himself flushing. "There is something more I want to show you."

Draco looked around warily. "There's more?" He asked in a tone not at all encouraging.

Potter laughed. "Where is your sense of adventure?" He shook his head. "Aye, there's more, but you'll like this."

Draco watched as Potter leaned forward over a pale peach colored bud and pursed his lips. The boy blew down upon the bud and Draco gasped quietly as it began to bloom beautifully. Creamy petals fell apart, exposing its middle. Potter picked the flower once its petals had ceased spreading, and plucked one of the petals from the edge before pressing it into his mouth. His lips were still pulled into a smile as his jaw worked at the sweet substance. He let out an appreciative hum, and then held out the flower for Draco. "Try some."

"You want me to eat a flower petal?" Draco asked incredulously. Potter nodded brightly. Draco briefly wondered if Potter was having him on, but by the look of utter sincerity on the boy's face, Draco knew he wasn't. He reached out and plucked a petal and stuffed it into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut tight, readying himself for a sour, bitter explosion. He was surprised to find sweetness filling his mouth. He tasted Turkish Delight! Sweet and delicious but without the mess! His eyes popped open, sparkling like raw diamond. "This is delicious! How did you do it?"

Potter couldn't help but laugh, he was doing a lot of that today. He leaned forward, his expression intense as if holding a secret. Maybe it was, Draco thought, and the prospect of Potter telling him excited him. The blond leaned forward eagerly. "First, you think of your favourite sweet," Potter whispered, "and then when the taste of it is fixed on your tongue, you blow on any flower you want and it blooms. You can only pick them after they're done blooming, or else they'll taste wretched." Potter wrinkled his nose for emphasis. "When it's done, you pick it and you can eat its petals. They'll taste exactly like what you imagined. It'll only work if you've had the sweet before, though." Potter looked briefly sad, but cheered instantly when Draco leaned forward to follow his instructions.

Soon his angel tasted the petals of a violet flower.

"Very good," Draco said, picking another petal.

"May I?" Potter asked. Draco offered his flower. Potter plucked a petal and chewed it. "Butterscotch," he said.

"My favourite." Draco nodded.

They sat in comfortable silence, each enjoying their flowers while the sun made its journey across the sky. It was only when Draco noticed Potter staring at him, did either of them speak. "What?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Have you ever tasted chocolate?" Potter asked.

Draco's confusion melted and he chuckled nodding. "Yes, plenty of times." Potter raised both eyebrows at him.

"Oh," was all he said. He looked away, glancing back at Draco with a shy smile before sighing softly and picking a blade of grass.

Oh,_oh_... Draco understood now. He smiled. He could play this game. He set aside his first flower and leaned over a new one. He let the taste of rich chocolate fill his mouth, then blew over the blood red flower in front of him. It bloomed and he waited for it to finish. When it did he plucked it. He brought the flower to his lips and pulled one of the petals loose with his teeth. He chewed and savored the flavour, making exaggerated faces over the deliciousness.

"What flavour is that one?" Potter asked casually, his eyes portraying him with their intensity.

"Chocolate," Draco said just as casually. He swallowed back a smile at the slight widening of green eyes. "'Tis very good." He added.

"Is it?" Potter asked.

"It is." Draco confirmed.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes and Draco wondered how long Potter would last. Apparently not long.

"May I have some?"

Draco cocked his head to the side. "Some of this?" He picked up the butterscotch flavored flower.

"No, no the chocolate. I'd like some of the chocolate, please." Potter said anxiously.

"Oh," Draco smiled. "Sure," he held out the flower.

Slowly, cautiously, Potter took it. He delicately picked a petal and tasted it. The dark haired boy groaned and his eyes rolled closed at the rich taste.

Draco felt his stomach flutter and his heart jump at the display. He wasn't sure why, but it didn't really matter. Potter ate more.

"You've never had chocolate before?" Draco asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Potter's eyes opened and Draco momentarily stopped breathing at the look he was given, glazed and... and, was i smoldering /i the right word to call it? Then they cleared and Potter shook his head solemnly. "Never."

"Lucky for you then. Great isn't it?" Draco asked.

"Yes, the best." Potter said earnestly. "May I keep it?" He looked shy yet again. Draco grinned.

"I can always make more."

Potter's face shown. "I think I should like the give you a kiss."

Draco blanched, his pale face flushing even more than from the heat of the sun. "Kiss?" He exclaimed, his voice breaking unbecomingly.

"Yes," Potter nodded, confused as to why Draco sounded so distressed. "To say thank you." He clarified. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Boys don't kiss other _boys_, though!"

"Why not?"

Draco spluttered then shook his head. "Well, we... we're boys!"

"And?"

Draco stared at Potter, not believing the situation. He was never outright told that kissing other boys was a bad thing, but mostly it was because he had never had the desire to and so had never been caught doing it. He had always assumed that it wasn't good, though, because he had never seen any boy kiss another before, and his father had once chastised him for holding hands with his friend, Blaise, in public when he was eight. He would never forget that day, even now. Kissing, he supposed, was even worse and would surely end with him on the wrong side of his father's temper. "I don't think I should." He finally murmured.

"Please?" Potter begged. "I would really like to thank you." The boy had the same tone as the night he had made Draco promise not the say that he didn't believe in fairies.

How could he say no? How could he not say no?

He swallowed and looked around, as if scouting for watching eyes or witnesses of any sort. He hoped the trees couldn't talk or spread news. He wasn't sure exactly where they were but if word of this got back to his father... He sighed when he found nothing suspicious and nodded. "Fine. Just one." Butterflies erupted in his stomach.

Potter smiled and leaned forward onto his knees, scooting closer to Draco through the flowers buds. He felt strange inside again, but this strangeness brought an excited flush his cheeks. He leaned forward, his heart pounding, his stomach knotting and dancing, until he could actually see the pale lashes of Draco's eyes, and feel the hot, moist breath against his parted lips.

Abruptly there was a blinding flash of light and the soft tinkling Draco remembered from earlier. The light blinded both boys and they fell backwards, pressing the heels of their palms into their eyes.

Potter's eyes cleared first, and the young adventurer was furious. He jumped to his feet. "Tink!"

There was more tinkling and the small fairy appeared sheepishly before him.

Draco rubbed at his eyes until most of the spots were gone. There was that strange noise again. When Draco opened his eyes he saw a curious scene; Potter was glaring at a floating light. Confused, he rubbed at his eyes again, thinking that maybe the spots hadn't all cleared, but when he looked up again, the light was still there and Potter was still glaring at it. Weird of all, though, was the little squeaky noises that Draco could make no sense of.

The light bobbed sharply and emitted a higher pitched squeak that made both boys cringe.

Potter's anger melted when he realized that something was really bothering Tink, but she was talking so rapidly that he could barely make more sense of it than Draco. "Tink, _Tink_, slow down! I don't understand!"

The little fairy was just that, little, but she had enough attitudes for someone a hundred times her size. It was on rare occasions that she got this upset. Usually it happened when Potter left without telling her, or after doing something she thought was extremely dangerous or stupid. This time Potter was at a complete loss as to what was wrong. "Tink," he said softly, cupping her tiny frame in his hands. "I'm sorry, whatever I did, I'm sorry. It'll never happen again." He promised. He smiled and relaxed as Tink's light dimmed with her anger.

Draco stared on in astonishment. An actually fairy?

Potter turned toward him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. She tends to get like that sometimes." There was the sound of bells clinking together and Potter laughed, looking down fondly at the fairy. He turned his amused gaze back towards Draco. "This is Tink," he held out his hand toward his pale angel as he walked forward. "And Tink, this is Draco."

Draco stared at the fairy and realized she was a... she. A very pale she, who didn't look very nice at all. She made a gesture at him that he was sure was rude, and his suspicions were confirmed when Potter called out her name in surprise and mild anger. The fairy had the grace to look sheepish before resuming her cold manner and turning her back to Draco.

"I'm really sorry, Draco." Potter said, throwing a glare at Tink. Draco had never seen that look before, but he had only just met Potter. He couldn't always be happy, could he? Draco thought he saw the fairy stick out her tongue at Potter. "I don't know why she's being so rude," Potter continued with a small, oblivious smile. "She's usually pretty nice to strangers."

Draco secretly suspected it had something to do with the kiss.

Tink floated up and poked Potter in the cheek before Draco could reply, and squeaked out a sentence to him. Potter's eyes widened, narrowed, and then firmed. "Have they…" he whispered, tiling his head as if listening. He let out a sound suspiciously close to a growl. "Right," He smiled at Draco. "I have someone else for you to meet."

Draco frowned and wished he had more time to spend with Potter, seeing as how he had been having such a nice time, but the fairy clearly wouldn't allow that. And, guessing by the look Potter had donned just now, neither would this new character. "Who?" He asked.

"More than just one who." Potter corrected and then said, "The Lost Boys."

Draco didn't like the sound of them at all. 


	3. Another Lost Boy

Draco wasn't adept to apologies. His mother never really gave him any and his father-his father he hardly saw. The man was great, powerful and his identical gray eyes shown with something regal and beckoning. His friends never did anything that he had not ordered them to do, therefore never put them selves in such a situation where an apology was needed.

So it was odd to see the apologetic looking flicked back at him every few seconds as he clung to the dark haired boy's neck. It unnerved him.

The sun was already nestling itself along the horizon, which was lost in the trees as they swept past them in a blur of warm air and silence. There was a constant sound, like small bells bumping against one another to his left and Draco was sure that it was Tink.

There was a tension in Potter's shoulders that Draco hadn't felt on their ride to the trees and flowers. Something was wrong; that much he had gathered by the look on Potter's face when Tink had told him whatever it was that was so important.

The wind was coming too fast for him to speak and be heard so he would have to wait to ask questions, but they were there, knocking at his perfect teeth.

"Your eyes," Potter said his voice rose over the roar of wind. "Close them,"

Draco did as he was told without hesitation, resting his head against the space between Potter's shoulder and neck.

Not much time later they were slowing and Draco could hear the chirping of crickets and that familiar whine of vines. They floated forward and the vines groaned again and when their protesting ended, so did the crickets.

"Pan!" It was a chorus of warm, delighted voices wrapped around one word, bringing it to life.

Draco's eyes popped open.

They were hovering a few feet above ground and at their feet were a cluster of the filthiest children Draco had ever laid eyes upon. He gasped at the sight of them, each of their eyes glowing with something akin to admiration. It seemed that none of them really noticed him there. He clung tighter to Potter.

"Pan, where've you been?"

"Have you brought us anything back?"

"What was it like this time?"

"Who is_ that_?"

They all fell silent at the last. Draco buried his face into Potter's neck, suddenly feeling very out of place and uncommonly shy.

Potter shifted, reaching back a hand to touch at the green silk covering Draco's back. "This?" Potter said his voice soft, eyes wide.

They all nodded, their eyes now weighing down Draco's shoulders. He could feel them staring.

"This is an angel."

The words shocked both the children and Draco. He stiffened.

"An angel?" One of the children asked his voice loud and disbelieving. "There's no such thing as them!"

Potter's eyebrows shot up. "Oh but there is. I have real proof. I convinced this angel to some back with me so that I might show you."

Draco felt anger flair inside him. He had been tricked! Potter had spun such a story...showed him beautiful things, all to lure him in and-

"Can you believe that angels have never had adventures?" Potter went on. Slowly they lowered to the ground and the children shuffled back, giving ample space for Potter to land. "As beautiful as they are their lives are pretty dull. They just sit around and watch over us. I promised this angel that I would share plenty with him."

The anger quivered and lessened...

"Him?"

"Him," Potter confirmed. "And just because he's a boy doesn't make him any less beautiful." Draco felt he would catch on fire, his face was so hot.

"Can we see him?"

Potter landed with Draco still clinging tightly. "No not tonight. We've had a long journey. I think he should like some rest. Now, if you will excuse us. I'll prepare his room and then we'll have a chat." His voice turned stern, "It's urgent." There was no reply as he lifted from the ground again.

Draco didn't know what to think. Should he be upset with Potter's lie? Should he be flattered at being called an angel? He didn't know and he didn't know how he felt about the children. They were dirty and obviously lacking in manners by the way they had greeted Potter. He knew nothing and no one and something, something was wrong... It was all too much and he was suddenly grateful that Potter had excused them.

Draco lifted his head from Potter's shoulder, noticing that now it was less tense. His blond hair curtained his face as he stared at his surroundings. There was a doorway obscured by several strands of thin vines. They flew through them and emerged into a room much grander than he had ever expected to see. The walls were made of dirt only interrupted by various thick and thin roots, he supposed from a tree. There was a soft orange glow coming from a hearth built of dried mud and burning wood. Something told him that magic kept the thing from spreading. To his left there was a bed of soft leaves and moss with some sort of tattered cloth thrown over the pile. The pillows were made out of a softer material it seemed.

Besides that the room was barren, only a few photos here and there that were so yellow and ripped that Draco could hardly make sense of them. And maybe he was just a little tired.

"Where are we?" Draco asked softly, feeling the need to whisper unnecessarily.

"My room. The others have their own. Some of them share but none of them come in here. You won't be disturbed," Potter answered his voice just as soft. They landed on the dirt floor and Draco finally slipped from Potter's back, stumbling. Potter reached out and righted him.

"Thank you,"

Potter turned and looked at him, fixing the blond with a bright smile and glimmering greens. "It's true what I said before. You are an angel."

Draco colored yet again and furrowed his brow, almost pouting. "Don't say that."

Potter chuckled. "Why not? You are beautiful." He reached out a hand and touched some of Draco's hair. "It's so soft and pale. I've never seen anything like this anywhere else. I've heard about it in fairytales and dreamt about it a few times but I've never believed it was real."

Having heard enough, Draco stepped back and away from Potter's stroking fingers. "It's real. I'm real, and I'm also very tired." He flinched at his own tone but he didn't take it back.

Potter sighed with a wistful smile. "Aye, you probably are." Potter turned toward his bed. "I know it's nothing like what you had at home but it will have to do."

Draco nodded. "It's fine." But somehow he didn't like the idea of sleeping alone in this strange place, and Potter was always so warm. He was safe.

"Right," Potter turned back toward him with another one of his smiles that Draco was starting to get used to. "I'll leave you to it." He stepped past Draco and headed for the door.

Draco stood rooted to the spot, his hands curling into fists. He whirled around, "Wait!"

Potter stopped and turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, "Hm?"

"Is...is everything alright? I'm not going to get into any trouble for coming here am I? My mother said I had to have a passport to go to different countries and-and I know that I've traveled to a whole different planet and I'm not sure if maybe I should have brought my passport first..." he trailed off then, feeling overwhelmed and a bit stupid. He felt as if he was going to cry but he knew he wouldn't.

Potter stared at him for a few long moments and then suddenly, he was laughing. Laughing loud and free and... Draco stared. "Passport? What is a bloody passport? What are you talking about Draco? Why would you be in any trouble?"

"Well, you said that there was urgent business to talk about out there and when the fairy, when she came you looked sort of grim..."

Potter just smiled. "It's really nothing for you to worry about. Look, if you want to know I'll tell you tomorrow when you've had some sleep, alright?"

Draco nodded. "OK."

Potter turned to leave but stopped yet again. "And we'll be sharing that bed, just to let you know."

There was a small relief in that. "OK."

"Another thing." Potter's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "I still intend to thank you."

Confused, Draco drew in a breath to ask what the boy had meant but he was already gone.

* * *

Potter drifted into the room a while later, muscles aching in that pleasant way that promised good sleep. Everything was cast in shadows disturbed only by the flicker of light spilling in through gaps in the vines covering the doorway. Potter turned and clutched the thick fabric hung by a thin stick just over the curved doorframe. He pulled the cloth to shield the vines, cutting off the little beams of light that had dared creep in.

The fire had long since burned out leaving little simmering bits of debris that slowly died away. Despite how warm the weather was outside it was never too warm here.

His gaze was drawn to the lump of twisted fabric atop his bed and he felt the unmistakable pull of a smile threatening the corners of his lips. Potter always felt the urge to smile when he looked at his angel. It didn't matter what he was doing, sleeping, laughing, frowning...there was just something about him.

"Potter?"

Potter hadn't realized he was awake. He smiled and walked forward into the darkness. "You're still awake, are you?" He skirted the bed, knowing the place as well as he knew the back of his hand even in the dark. He approached the opposite wall and reached up, his fingers skimming the uneven dirt-hardened walls. He found the small swatch of cloth and pulled it to the right exposing a sliver of moonlight. From here he could see Luna through a frame of green leaves. The light was just enough to silhouette the room's occupants.

"I couldn't sleep."

Potter lifted from the ground, his arms crossing and providing a surface for his chin to rest on. "Are you alright?" He asked as he crept closer and closer to the bed and Draco, whose hair seemed to glow in the dim light.

"I suppose I'm not used to being here."

Potter flipped onto his back, his hands twining behind his head. He fell to the soft bed below beside Draco. He shifted and turned to face the blond's back. "I don't know what it is but you seem so familiar to me Draco," Potter murmured softly, seemingly to himself. "I feel as if I have met you before..."

Draco ran his fingers over the rumpled bedclothes below him, his smooth brow dipping just slightly with the odd statement. "But that's impossible. I have never met you before."

"I know," He sighed and reached a hand out, touching that soft hair again. He loved the smooth texture of it running over the pads of his fingers like something forbidden. In a way it did feel forbidden that he should be allowed to touch something so delicate, or even lay eyes on Draco's sublime features. "Still, I just feel like I have..." The words trailed off into silence. He felt an uncomfortable tug in his stomach and he squirmed.

Draco turned then and faced Potter. The look in those eyes was something he'd never seen. They were so open and the blond felt suddenly flooded with everything that flickered across the dark haired boy's mind. It was all there, plain for him to see. He looked away. Never had he met someone with such intense, telling eyes. It was hard to look into them without spilling his thoughts as well. _Was it magic?_ he wanted to know. Instead he asked, "How long have you been here?"

Potter's expression seemed to harden, just a simple tightening of lips and the dip of a young, naive brow. Draco didn't see this change but he heard the soft bitterness edging the boy's laugh as he stared just past Potter at the beam of moonlight.

"Oh, I don't know, far too long perhaps." Potter's fingers curled into the cloth beneath him unknowingly. He didn't like to think about that, he didn't like to think of the time that had passed the people who had grown with each blossoming minute, the people who had died with each ending month and year. He didn't want to think of what wasn't left. It didn't matter anyway.

"How did you get here?"

His heart gave a lurch and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat The tug in his stomach died. It had been years since he'd felt that particular feeling. He thought he had long since left these unwanted feelings behind him. "Draco, why do you ask such painful questions?"

Gray eyes met green. "They're painful?"

"Yes, I'd rather we not talk about it. Not yet, at least." The young adventurer wasn't sure what exactly made him add that last part. It had not crossed his mind to say such a thing yet it had slipped from his lips as if they had been planned.

"You'll tell me later?" Draco asked, shifting slightly.

Potter smiled and it was soft and natural, rimmed with a bit of teasing along the edges. "Maybe. Aren't you sleepy?"

The words were like magic and amazingly Draco's eyes wouldn't stay open and a yawn threatened to overtake him. He sighed and looked back at the beam of moonlight. There was something compelling about Potter. Maybe it was his openness, his readability. Draco wasn't sure but something made him feel safe with Potter, made him want to stay here and just laze while the world slipped past them. Maybe it was the tiredness or his body reacting to the magic. He felt eyes on him and he knew Potter was staring but he found that he didn't mind much. In fact that thought seemed to help lull him to sleep. Soon he was dreaming of snarling fairies and hazy, crying figures that were just too far away for him to reach. There was Potter, too. He was there guiding, laughing.

* * *

"Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa," The quill continued to dig its way across the fresh parchment surface, its scratching like a mocking cackle as it filled the silence.

She waited for more, waited for the words that would follow. The ones that would say to stop this foolishness. But they didn't come and Narcissa thought how the silence seemed much worse than hearing her husband tell her that what she said was all lies. Perhaps Lucius knew that. "You cannot ignore it this time Lucius. Our son is gone. He is no longer in his bed. He's not in any of the guest rooms or under the stairs or behind curtains. We've checked everywhere. There's nothing."

Lucius heaved a sigh and dipped the end of his quill into the inkwell. "He's probably just being insolent. It was bound to happen sometime; he's been too quiet. I'm sure he knows this house better than any of us. There is no doubting he has discovered some obscure hiding place. Just give him time and he'll resurface." Lucius went on inscribing, "And when he does we'll have Poppy give him a good talking to."

"No, Lucius. Don't reason this away. This goes far beyond reason, far beyond what's sitting in front of us. This is the past coming back to-"

"Cissa, now." Lucius drawled, his voice dripping with mock soothing. He did not once stop writing. "Enough of that. It's late, is it not? We've already discussed this. I've given you my views and we've agreed not to bring it up." He shook his head and the long thread of white-blond hair swished against his back. He glanced up at Narcissa and murmured, "Today must have been especially stressful."

Pale fingers curled against hot palms. "Lucius. What will it take for you to believe me."

Lucius finally looked up from his scribbling. He frowned as if just realizing Narcissa was there. Sometimes he wondered why he married this woman. Oh, she was beautiful; pale skin, long thick black hair, big eyes, full lips, an endemic smile, perfect teeth and great company to boot. And let's not forget her body. She curved in a way that was boggling to the mind. Her curves were delicate yet pronounced and matured. She always wore fitting clothes, but Lucius supposed that even if she dressed in rags she would make them look beautiful and all of the girls would want just as many wholes in their blouses if it meant looking like her.

But she was simply full to the brim with stories. She told them to their child, told them to other's children. She even tried telling them to Lucius once but he had not really listened. And it was always the same story, the one about a boy named Pan who flew and came from a different world altogether. She would explain in rich detail how they'd flown together and had adventures and fought pirates and talked to fairies and slept in the clouds when the moon was full, which was always.

It was wonderful to hear about and even to fantasize over but Narcissa did far more than that.

She believed.

Lucius didn't.

The woman had taken it to a completely new level one day. It had been just like any other summer day, warm and breezy with the children playing in the background and Poppy keying away on the piano.

Narcissa had swept into his office with tea and a story. A prophecy, actually and it involved Draco. What had she told him? The boy would come and steal Draco away from them and they'd disappear for she wasn't sure how long. Draco would have to make a choice then; stay or go?

_'Stay where?' he had asked._

_'Neverland.' She had answered with no small amount of sadness._

Rubbish, the lot if it and he knew that. Knowing that was the difference between being sane and being _in_sane. That night they'd had many a heated arguments and had agreed to finally let it go. A small-but ever growing-part of Lucius knew she would bring it forth again. He just wished that she'd picked a better day. He had much to do and so, so little time to do it.

"Lucius, did you hear me?"

"Yes, yes I heard you. I just don't know what to tell you, love, because there is nothing you can do to make me believe that what you say is true. Flying children, Narcissa?" He sighed and his shoulders sagged. "I don't have the time for this."

"This is our son Lucius! Our son has been taken away! And you have no time?" She sealed her lips before she let something disgraceful slip.

Silence crashed into the tail end of her words as Lucius stared at Narcissa with barely hidden surprise. This was the first time she'd ever raised her voice at him and by the sparkle in her eye he'd guess that she was on the edge of tears, teetering.

She was finally going mental, just as his dear old mother had warned him, bless her. He should have listened but no, she was too pretty and too smart to pass up. Now look at her.

The quill finally slipped from his fingers and he entwined them together in front of him hoping that this would stop their shaking. "Narcissa," he began his voice calmer than he felt. "I'm going to have Poppy pack you a bag. You need help."

Narcissa sucked in a breath unable to believe that her husband could be so thick. She closed her eyes and squeezed back the desperate tears. _OK, just... calm._

When she opened them again she was her usual self. She smiled. "Lucius, excuse me for interrupting you. I did not mean to become a bother." And with that, she left.

Lucius stared as Narcissa swept from his office. He wasn't sure what he had just witnessed but he felt unnerved. Checking to make sure Narcissa had really gone he reached down to one of the many drawers of his desk and pulled out the middle one. In it sat a bottle of Firewhiskey concealed behind a few well-placed documents. Yes, it was very potent stuff but he felt he needed it.

Thirty minutes later Lucius was back to writing, his thoughts only occasionally interrupted by Narcissa's outlandish story, and thoughts of, _What if it were real?_ But maybe that was the whiskey talking.

When he went to bed that night Narcissa wasn't there.

* * *

Waking up was like a dream in itself and the blond found it hard to decipher the difference between wakefulness and dreaming.

Ripe fruit filled the air with its fragrant odor, swirling under his noise like soft, tantalizing fingers. There was something else too, but it wasn't sweet so much as slightly familiar and welcoming and when the heavy warmth pressing against his chest shifted, Draco was instantly aware of what that particular scent was.

It was Potter curled up against him, soft black hair tickling the underside of his chin. The boy murmured softly against his chest and the warm moisture of his breath sunk into the silk. Fingers pressed against his hipbone, curling into the fabric there.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart beat a wild tempo. He swallowed. "Potter?"

Nothing happened, no movement except for the rise and fall of the tanned boy's chest and the contrasting hot-cool of the boys breathing. "Potter," he said a little more insistently.

The body curled against him jerked and a messy head of hair sprang up, bleary green eyes rimmed with sleep blinking frantically as the adventurer's brow wrinkled, lips parted. "Huh? I'm awake! Has he come?" Words spilled forward unbridled in a quick, slurred mess that was hard for Draco to comprehend. But he did catch the last bit.

"Has who come?"

Potter blinked and when his eyes next opened they looked a great deal clearer. They searched the blond's pale face and that ever popular smile broke lose. Somehow that reassured Draco. "That's right. I did promise to tell you today, didn't I? I think we should wait until after breakfast, though." Pan tilted his head back and sniffed the heavy air, dark strands of hair falling away from his face. "Mm, smells good, doesn't it?" Potter sprang from the bed and into the air with a thrust of his folded legs. He skimmed the ceiling at a leisurely pace, spinning just as slowly as his limbs stretched wide, muscles pulling taunt, wringing the sleep from them.

"Who's cooking?" Draco inquired as he gently pushed himself to his feet. The ground was soft and gritty beneath his toes. He flexed them and felt the dirt lift.

"Probably H-hermione." Potter yawned grandly and floated towards the doorway.

"Hermione?" The blond asked as Pan's feet touched the ground.

"She's the girl bit of the Lost Boys. She's also a great cook." Potter looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think maybe she learned it before she came here."

A question formed on Draco's tongue but Potter was grabbing his hand and yanking him along before he could ask it. The two boys stepped into the middle of a heated conversation being tossed across a sturdy wooden table sagging with delicious food.

"And I swear, there were _tons_ of them _every_ where! Six to my left and seven to my right. There were five in front of me and I wasn't going to risk my neck to see how many were_ behind_ me!"

"Liar!"

"It's true as rain! I thought I saw Hook at one point, too!"

"You lying, dirty little-"

"BOYS!" A sharp, yet young female voice shouted, cutting through the insults like a freshly sharpened sword. "E-_nough_. Our guest has arrived."

Silence fell amongst the ragged, ill-mannered children and an array of multi-colored eyes descended upon Draco's pale face, which colored a faint pink. But instead of cowering away as he had last night he scraped up the courage that always seemed but a breath away and squared his shoulders. He raised his eyebrows and swept his swirling gray eyes over the assortment of expressions. Some of awe, some of confusion, some of apprehension. A smirk swept over his features and he felt himself quickly falling back into the same Draco he'd been back at his own home in front of his friends.

"Well," Said Potter his hands curled and pressed into his sides, his face stern and edged with amusement, "Don't just sit there. Introduce yourselves." The ensuing chaos was blusterous. Chairs scrapped against the floor, some crashing to the ground and barely righted before bare feet padded forward in a series of muted slaps as the children formed a neat line, biggest to smallest.

Once a semblance of order had settled, the first stepped forward. Draco eyed him, his face blank as his heart speed away without him.

The boy was tall and gangly with a mess of shockingly bright red hair and freckles coating the bridge of his nose and, it seemed, almost every inch of his long body. He had a wide mouth and a warm smile and crystal blue eyes that shown with permanent mirth. His clothes were quite ratty and disgusting with several holes and worn patches. They were all faded dull colors, shorts frayed around the edges and a shirt that was missing at least half of it. "Hello! I'm Ron, but everyone calls me Weasel."

Next was a boy that was the shade of rich chocolate with hair dark and thick. His smile rivaled Potter's but wasn't nearly as reassuring. He had a smooth way about him, an ease that gave off the air of being trustworthy. Draco already felt the inclination to favor this one. He was shorter than Ron but slightly taller than Draco and from what the smaller boy could see he was probably the leanest out of all of them. His clothes were no better than Ron's; worn shorts that hung a few inches past his knees and a shirt that had previously been orange but was now the color of mango when cut open. "My name's Dean. You can call me Big D, or just D." Behind him, the rest of the group snickered softly, including Potter. Draco knew he was missing some sort of joke.

"And I," Said the smallest of the boys and who was obviously stepping out of turn, "Am Seamus, please to meet your acquaintance, kind sir." The boy swept out a short tanned arm dusted with dark hairs, and bowed rather deeply in front of Draco. When he righted Draco had a chance to properly look him over. From just one look Draco could tell that this was the wildest of the bunch. His smile was crooked, and, if anything, gave a fair warning of what was to come. His hair brushed against the tops of his ears, brunet, and his eyes were dark with mischief.

The last of the boy's came forward with an awkward shuffling of feet and a shy tug at the sleeve of his dirty shirt. "I'm Neville," The boy said, his voice almost inaudible even in their silence. He cleared his throat and glanced up at Draco with a feeble smile. "It's nice to meet you." Neville was thicker than the rest of them and a lot less tanned. His eyes darted around him, avoiding Draco's altogether. His hair was the same brown shade as Seamus, but his was a lot thicker and curled about his face in a way that made him pleasing to the eye. He was almost endearingly shy.

"And last but not least, Hermione." Potter said into the quiet that followed Neville's timid introduction.

The boy's parted to reveal a girl with the wildest head of hair Draco had ever laid eyes on. It was a light brown and crinkled from root to tip. She was shorter even than Seamus but the set of her mouth and the way her brown eyes fixed on Draco told him that she was not one to be playing many games. Her eyes spoke of her intelligence and wit and her clothes announced her role with its many stains and spots. She stepped forward with a deceivingly kind smile. "Hello, _I'm_ Hermione."

"She's just like one of the guys, though," put in Dean with a wicked smile.

"But with breasts!" added Seamus.

Hermione whipped around and cooked Seamus with seething glare. "What did you just say?"

Seamus' smile dropped from his face with quickness. "N-nothing, I didn't say anything."

The glare continued for a few seconds longer, and then she turned back to Draco, her smile back in place. "I apologize for their brashness. They've no manners as you can tell. Please, have a seat and help yourself. I do hope I've cooked something you like." She brushed some of her thick hair over her shoulder but as she turned her hair swished back into place as if not moved at all. Draco was wise to the fact that her hair would need a lot more than just a quick brush of the hand to tame it into anything resembling obedience.

Potter's hand touched Draco's back briefly before the boy was off towards the table. Draco followed and from that point on had the best breakfast he could ever remember having.

* * *

It was as if they had traveled through a veil into another world. The magic was still strong here, maybe stronger, but it was twisted with something dark and murky. Draco could feel it crawling over the exposed skin of his shoulder, his nightshirt having slipped to one side as he lay stomach down against the hard, rocky surface of the cliff they now gazed over.

The sea was in constant turmoil below them, stretching out far and wide. Waves crashed against the jagged rocks below turning the dark blue to a bubbly white. With each crash came a spray of wretched water. Rain came down in torrents around them and the sky was shredded with lightening every few seconds, only to be followed with rolling thunder that shook the ground.

It was like a horror scene from one of those creepy books Draco remembered his mother reading him once she thought he was old enough. There was a permanent chill over everything and the only thing warming Draco was Potter whose arm was pressed absently against his own.

"Over there," Potter stretched out an arm over the rocky edge and Draco noticed how the usual tanned skin looked deathly pale.

"I don't see anything." Draco strained his eyes but saw nothing but more sharp rocks.

"Ah, you only think you don't see it but its there. A ship. A pirate ship." Despite the lurking shadows filled with things unseen, Potter's voice had turned to story-telling. His green eyes stood out against the colorless backdrop. They stared unwaveringly at the cluster of rocks. "That's were all of the bad things go. All of the nightmares and monsters and villains. They all live there."

Potter turned to look at him, eyes wide and mysterious again. "I've been there."

"You lie."

"But I don't!" Potter frowned and looked back out into the distance. "That's where Hook lives. A sad old pirate with nothing else to do but make children's lives miserable." Beside him Draco shivered. "He's been bitter about me ever since that beast bit his hand off. He blames me for his foolishness," Potter turned his fierce gaze back to Draco, "but the truth is that... that..." He trailed off at the look in Draco's eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Hook is real?" the blond asked, his voice breaking.

"What do you mean 'Hook is real'?" Potter fixed him with a puzzled expression.

"I-my mother always told me stories about Hook, about his pirate ship and about his crew. I was telling my friends the story the night I met you." Draco looked out over the churning sea. He still didn't know why he had come. Being here now in this dark place made him want home again, made him think of his mother and father and how they would feel when they found out he was gone. Were they awake now searching for him? Were they crying and wishing he were back? How could he have left them without a note or goodbye of any kind?

Fingers touched his arm, the warm flesh soft and warm against his cold body. "Draco?"

He blinked back something hot and wet that had welled up in his eyes and glanced at Potter. "What?" He asked with more venom than he had intended.

The hand drew back quickly and Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him. "Can you tell me the story?"

"Here?" Draco snorted and gave Potter an eerie smile, "You want me to tell you a story here, Potter?"

"Why not?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He didn't want to admit that he was afraid. "You already know it. You live it."

"But I love stories and if this is one about Hook, where could we possibly go that could be better than here to tell it?" Pan reasoned

Silence that wasn't really silence brought forth the sound of the waves as the dark branches overhead bent steadily lower with the rain's weight. "They say his eyes are as red as blood," Draco began but his voice immediately faltered. A wisp of what looked like_ shadow_ dragged itself from amongst the rocks that Potter had pointed out. It slithered across the uneven surface, breaking away from the darkness and into the air.

It took Draco a few seconds to realize a few things. One was that there were more shadows breaking off into the sky and two, they were heading straight at the two of them.

Then Potter uttered a word that Draco, though he didn't know what it meant, thought summed up their being.

"Dementors."


	4. Special Magic and Pastimes

That was the first day he felt it. That subtle pull from somewhere deep within. He dragged himself to his feet and washed away the fear. It squared his shoulders and steadied his hands as he wrapped them about Draco's shaking arms. Somehow he managed to find the will to smile even as the Dementors came closer, their gaping mouths sucking hoarsely at their despair. In the permanently dim light Potter looked like a hero.

A mad cackle bellowed through the dark forest around them, Neverland never short of trees no matter where you turned or how dark the magic ran. Potter knew that laugh; it haunted him in his dreams, the few ones that turned bad. It sent chills through him, chills that had nothing to do with the cold. It echoed off of the peeling bark and swallowed them with its hollowness. He felt the body in his hands quake and as his eyes met gray he felt a sudden spell of possessiveness overcome him.

Arms slipped around Potter and tugged him close and he realized he was the armor for this knight. He was the confidence and he would have to take the blows, separate the soft pale skin from the harmful violence of the unknown.

"Daring aren't we, Pan," said a voice so cold both boys could feel it. "Wandering in my land without your little fairy. And, oh, what is this? You've brought a friend. I don't think I've ever seen this one before. So pretty."

Draco pressed forward into Potter. "Get us out of here! Get us out of here _now_!"

"Hook," Potter hissed, his eyes hard as they scanned the darkness. He took a step forward and then another. He stumbled over raised roots but he kept his feet moving until he had to swing Draco around and onto his back so that he could properly run. He gritted his teeth together and tucked his arms beneath Draco's clenching knees. He could feel the boy shaking against him.

"Run, run as fast as you caaaaan," the voice mocked with a vicious laugh.

"You'll never catch me, I'm Potter Pan!" Potter called out, as the ground seemed to disappear beneath them. Adrenaline seized him and he clutched at it, using it to force them out of the gloom, away from the Dementors still sucking hungrily in their wake. He thrust off of the ground, feeling his stomach flutter as he was airborne...

And crashed to the ground. Potter picked the both of them up hoping he hadn't seriously injured Draco but not having enough time to stop and check. He couldn't fly. There wasn't enough joy. The Dementors were sucking at him; he could feel the strings of his pain pulling him back as his physical body fought to keep going. He couldn't let those monsters get them. Especially not Draco.

He pushed forward, hopping like a gazelle over the protruding roots. Trees seemed to gather together, purposefully making it hard to escape. The spaces in between the wide trunks grew smaller and smaller and the effort it took to get through without much physical damage was slowing them down tremendously. The tricky thing about this forest was that you never knew when it ended until you burst through the Other Side. Sometimes you were running in circles, sometimes you were running in deeper and sometimes you were running along the edge of the Other Side, sometimes all you had to do was turn left or right and you'd be out but you wouldn't know and you'd keep running, forever skimming the edge of freedom.

But Potter knew his way around this forest. He knew Neverland like no human had known it before. He knew where he was going and he would get them out.

Something cold and slimy touched the back of his neck and he realized that the grip of Draco's legs was loosening. He whipped his head back and saw a Dementor hovering over them, touching Draco, dark mouth agape, the edges billowing. The blond was barely hanging on, he was losing hope. "Draco! Stay with me!" The legs jerked and tightened, arms clutching tighter to the adventurer. "We're going to make it!"

A Dementor flew in their path and Potter couldn't avoid it.

They would crash headlong into it; there was no way of stopping it. No way of…

_CRASH!_

In a tumble of arms legs and various textures, the three of them tumbled out and into the light of the Other Side of Neverland. Potter rolled off of Draco and sprang up, his powers finally coming back to him as the light brought him happy thoughts. A black streak whipped past them and back into the opaque barrier that divided the light and dark.

Potter was sure it was a Bogart.

Panting heavily, Pan turned toward Draco.

The blond was curled in himself, shaking and making little whimpering sounds, hands flexing in his usually tame blond hair. Now it was thick with sweat, dirt and forest. Potter collapsed next to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder, jumping along with Draco as the boy pulled away from the touch.

"Draco, it's just me," Potter whispered, his breath evening out. "It's just me, we're safe now. They're gone. Those things can't get us here. Are you hurt?" He rubbed soothingly at the blond's back.

Pale limbs unfolded and Draco's smudged face came into view, tracks of clean skin marking the trail of his tears. "N-no. I'm fine, just a b-bit shaken." His eyes were wide as saucers—not that Potter knew what _those_ were—and wet. His skin felt cold and clammy and was paler than usual. "Potter, never take me back there again. Please."

Steady arms enveloped the shaking boy and Potter sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for things to go all pear shaped. I won't take you there unless you ask next time. I just wanted to show you where Hook lived, the evil man who's spying on us." He swallowed and felt a bit of warmth spread throughout him as Draco leaned into him. He chuckled. "I think it's time for a bath though. We're filthy now." Hermione would have a fit if she saw them. She had no doubt ordered the other's to bathe once they'd left that morning.

Draco pulled back with a small smile. "I agree. We stink."

* * *

Potter watched between the tall grasses as water ran down pale skin and flickered in the sun. Strange things were happening to his body, things that he had never experienced before; a deep smoldering heat gathering in his stomach. He watched the droplets turn gold as they caught the light, slipping down shoulders, over spine, dipping between the valley of supple flesh that was Draco's arse.

Draco moved slowly with care. At this angle Potter could see just a hint of the calm on Draco's face. He could see the hooded eyes, unsuspecting of Potter's own traversing down his exposed body. He could see his lips. He'd never laid eyes upon anything so stimulating, so beautiful. He felt, as he stared at the boy washing, like he couldn't breathe. His heart beat heavy and fast in his chest and his whole body felt alive and aware.

Potter shivered as the cool water rushed over and through the 'V' of his thighs, brushing lightly at his groin.

His groin.

He looked down at himself and gasped at what he saw; red flushed skin wet with water and solid. Never had he witnessed himself like this. The sensations going through him in that moment were indescribable.

As he glanced back up at Draco, who was still oblivious of his gawking, he felt the rigid flesh give a tortured jerk.

The moment hands touched his length he knew that whatever he was experiencing was unnatural. There was no way it was normal to feel this sort of pleasure, this sort of _ache_. He drew in a sharp breath and sunk lower into the water until his hands were submerged under its cool waves.

"What is this?" he choked out as his hands began to move, pulling and shifting with careful fingers. Heat stained his cheeks a deep red. His back arched and the next moan came out unbidden.

The sound shocked him enough to remind him of Draco, of where he was. He blinked, hands stilling in their sensuous movements, and looked around for his angel. Draco wasn't where Potter and last seen him washing. Worry sprang forward and he could feel the taunt skin in his hands softening. Had Hook gotten to him? Had the wretched man somehow snatched Draco up while Potter wasn't paying attention?

Forgetting about his clothes and forgetting about his newly discovered pastime, Potter burst up and out of the stream, scrambling for the grassy bank. "Draco?" he called pulling himself up and casting his worried green eyes all about him. "_Draco_?"

He ran towards the wall of vines where they had hidden their clothes. "Draco!" He forced himself through the thick plants, panic finally winding its fingers around his previously heated insides. Now they ran cold with fear, twisting and turning. It was funny how he was more afraid now than he had been in the forest. "Draco," he yelled, "Dra—" He stumbled to a halt, wet hair slapping against his forehead, water flying everywhere.

Draco stood on a pile of green silk in the clearing, hands balled and pressed firmly into his sides. Wide gray eyes connected with Potter's, the blond's mouth hanging open almost comically and he held that pose, frozen into place with cheeks blossoming in embarrassment.

Silence.

Draco was wearing Potter's clothes, the pair of skin-fitting overalls he had fashioned out of forest scraps that slashed deeply across his chest, exposing half of the tanned skin to the world. On the blond the material hung loose in places and the only strap that held the clothing up had slipped from his shoulders, causing more of his skinny chest to be revealed. Draco stood in the same confident posture that Potter always took up when ordering people around or showing bravery.

Draco had been imitating Potter. There was no other explanation.

Suddenly the silence was broken. Potter's laughter rang out around him as he fell to his knees, one hand pressing against his chest while the other flew out to catch his weight before he smashed face first into the ground. Potter wasn't sure what he found particularly funny, maybe it was the image of Draco trying to be him or maybe it was the way his clothes didn't quite fit the angel's small frame.

It was clear that his laughter was getting to Draco if the pale boy's sharp gaze and thinning lips were anything to go by but that only seemed to fuel Potter further into his manic laughter. It seemed minutes had passed and soon Potter found himself lying on his back, heavy breathing only interrupted periodically with bursts of lingering laughter. Somehow he managed to calm down and he lay there, fingers flexing against the forest floor, blinking up at the thick canopy, and smile still firmly in place.

"Done now are you, Potter?" A cold voice asked from somewhere out of Potter's field of vision.

Draco stood, his arms crossed over his exposed chest, eyes slatted in anger. Potter cleared his throat and giggled a few times even though the boy's voice reminded him eerily of Hook's. He finally succeeded in schooling his features into something calm and reasonable.

"Draco, I'm sorry it's just—" his voice wavered with the effort it took not to laugh. He sucked in a breath and tried again. "It was just unexpected," he explained suddenly feeling very sober. "I was afraid, when I didn't see you, that somehow Hook had snatched you up." He ducked his head, fingers picking absently at the grass beneath him. "So I ran looking for you and then I found you dressed in my clothes and I just… I was so relieved. I guess I got a bit carried away." He chuckled shyly and glanced back up at Draco.

The pale foreigner looked a lot less fierce than before and Potter watched him warily as he stepped closer. "You were worried about me?" Draco sounded just as wary as Potter felt.

The dark-haired boy nodded enthusiastically. "Worried sick. I even lost—" He cut himself not only because he knew what had happened to him earlier when he looked at Draco was abnormal, but because he… he didn't know what to call it.

"Lost your what? Breakfast?" Draco supplied.

Potter went with it. "Yes, I was so worried." He pushed himself off of the ground, righting himself in the air until he was vertical again.

Draco flushed brightly and glanced away. "Um, you're… naked."

"Hum?" Potter looked down at himself and then did an odd thing where he nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Yes, I am."

Draco glanced at him, his brow wrinkling in a way that suggested Potter was crazy. "Shouldn't you put something on?" He asked hastily, his hand gesturing toward all of Potter's naked glory without really looking at him. His cheeks flushed harder.

"Well you see I am at a sudden loss for clothes…" Potter smirked teasingly as Draco forgot to be embarrassed and glared.

The glare almost immediately melted away and Draco was back to being shy. He ducked his head and fiddled with his fingers. "I was wondering… about that."

"About my clothes?" Pan asked.

"Yes, those." Draco coughed. "I was wondering…_ifyouwouldmakemesomelikeyours_."

Potter threw his head back and laughed, "Wh-hat? I didn't quite catch that."

Draco glared, his hands clenching by his sides. "I _said_, I was _wondering_ if you would make me some like yours." He ground out.

Potter's eyes sparkled. "All you had to do was ask, angel. I would have made you some." He teased.

"Well, I did ask." Draco snapped. "And don't call me angel."

Potter shook his head, still looking highly amused. "Testy, testy. Listen, if you give me my clothes back I'll make you some just like them. Tink will have to help, though. I'm completely hopeless measurements." He watched at Draco's eyes lit up. Then they slipped and fell to Potter's free bits.

The blond blushed again and turned away. "I'll just take these off," he murmured and stripped down to nothing. He snatched up his silk pajamas and tugged them on and handed Potter his clothes with more confidence now that he was dressed. His eyes never trailed lower than Potter's wet fringe.

* * *

Summoning Tink was easy enough, one high-pitched whistle—so high that only a fairy could hear it—and the bobbing creature zipped into existence. Getting her to make something for Draco was the challenge. When Potter had asked the favor of her the fairy had taken one look at the pale boy and refused with a serious of rapid jingles.

Said boy was sitting amongst a group of decidedly cleaner children, watching the argument with growing apprehension. Around him conversation flowed between the four children.

Seamus sniggered and elbowed Neville who slumped forward, hands fumbling with the knife and wood so that the blade dug deeper than he'd wanted, messing up the perfect curve he'd been working on since morning. The brunet scowled and shot a glare at Seamus that doubled as a silent _'what do you want_'. He followed the smirking boy's gaze towards Draco and found the blond not paying the least bit attention to them at all. He was staring unabashedly at Potter.

"Neville," Seamus whispered. Neville eyed the smaller boy warily his woodwork all but forgotten. "Doesn't he have nice hair? It's so fine and shinny. Don't your fingers itch to touch it?" Seamus glanced at Neville, "You know I have a thing about hair."

Dean looked up from the tattered hand of cards he'd been staring at. Ron who was also playing cards looked up as well. A slow smile stretched across Dean's face and he cleared his throat. "And his teeth. They're so white and straight. You know I have a thing about teeth." His smile widened to expose his own which were a lot better off than most of children.

By this point Draco's intense gaze had faltered a bit, eyes fluttering as he tilted his head toward their voices.

"His legs as well," Ron added, the serious way in which he said it making it hard for the boys to keep a straight face. "I've not got a proper look at them but from what I've glimpsed…"

Draco shifted and finally turned to look at them, "I can hear you, you know."

"Oh, we know." Seamus said as he settled back on his hands, his short, thin legs folding in front of him. His gaze shifted from the blond to a now flushed Potter. The dark-haired boy's arms were crossed over his partial exposed chest and his lips were pouting as his brow dipped. Seamus sighed and shook his head. "No one knows what Pan has a thing for, though." Seamus saw Draco glance at Potter. It was so quick that he almost didn't catch it but he had been looking for it.

"As far as we're concerned, Potter has never had a thing." Dean said wistfully. He dropped his hand, letting his cards fan out face up on the floor. Ron gapped and let out a grunt of protest before dropping down his own sad hand. Dean crawled the short distance to Seamus and rested his head in the boy's lap. "Never been interested in Hermione, never glanced twice at the Patil twins." Dean looked up at Draco, "they're the head of a group of Native Indians that inhabit the southwest bit of the forest. Very nice lot, them."

"I've heard rumors that Potter can never love." Neville said staring down at the tools in his hands and not really seeing them.

"Rubbish!" Hermione settled herself down in front of Dean's forgotten cards. "Pan loves us as much as he loves Neverland. He loves Tink, too, probably more than us."

Draco felt a lurch inside of him at that. He looked back at the floating ball of light, his eyes slitting. There Potter stood foolishly arguing in vain with his best friend of… Well Draco wasn't sure how long Potter and Tink had been together but it seemed like a very, very long time. He felt anger at the fairy and anger at Potter for arguing with the fairy when she obviously wouldn't coincide on the matter. She hated Draco, the blond knew that much.

He stood, pale hands clenched tightly at his sides and marched over to the arguing pair not caring whether the others were watching or not. He didn't care that he may have looked foolish. To him, the fairy's refusal to make him a simple piece of clothing was degrading enough. "Potter," he said sharply and his voice cut through the argument like a freshly sharpened knife. "She's obviously not going to agree. Just drop it. I don't need one of those stupid outfits anyway." He shot a sizzling glare at the fairy. "It was a dumb idea to ask," he said staring at the bobbing light. "Forgive me for being a bother."

Feeling hot and irrational Draco turned and marched off towards the direction where he thought Potter's room was. He wouldn't be sure until he got there, if he ever did. But he was sure of one thing; his time here would be made horrible if Tink had her way.

Potter watched the livid blond stalk off and he felt his own anger rise yet again as he rounded on Tink. "All you had to do was say yes, Tink. All you had to do was sow the stupid edges. But you had to be stubborn." Potter's eyes softened and he searched the fairy's face. "Why, Tink? Why are you being this way?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he turned and thrust up into the air, soaring after Draco and hoping he hadn't ruined this adventure already.

The Lost boys and Hermione all exchanged glances with each other, worry not far behind their carefully aloof masks.

That was the first time Potter had ever talked to Tink like that, with so much anger in his green eyes.

* * *

Narcissa pulled her long pale hair out of her pale face, her eyes avoiding the mirror as her fingers pulled and twisted the silky tendrils into a deep red tie. She combed her fingers through the luscious strands a few times without purpose and sighed deeply, the sigh of a troubled woman.

Around her the room smelled dank and old, as if no one had lived in it for years. That was, in fact, the case. Narcissa only came here when she needed to get away and that need had lessened and lessened as she had settled into the role of a wife and breed a child. She'd been so caught up in raising her only son that she didn't have time to want other things.

But now that her love was gone and her husband was deaf to the truth, the need had sprung free like a feral thing and had swept her from the prim halls of Malfoy Manor. She had ordered Poppy to stay and look after her husband, make sure he did not do anything dangerous, or that threatened their social status once he found out that Narcissa was missing.

She just couldn't take it. She couldn't stay in that house and sleep with a man that practically told her she was crazy. Lucius had ordered her to pack her things and she had. She was getting help in her own peace, able to think without being suffocated by her husband's dimness, or inability to see what was right in front of him. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize that this was no joke, that this was real and that Draco was gone.

She would be waiting when he finally understood. Poppy would instruct him to send a dove. They were especially trained to deliver small letters, and knew where her secret hideout was located.

Until then she would have to think and she would have to wait. There was nothing she could do. She couldn't very well go off to Neverland and search for her son. She hadn't been there in…. In far too long. She was too old and the world had tainted her imagination far too much for her to be able to make it past those glorious constellations. She just hoped that Pan took good care of her only son. She just hoped that Draco would be back, and soon.

Something deep inside her knew it would be a while—things like this didn't take just hours or days or even weeks. It took a long time to find out who you were. With parents hovering over you it was easy to be told what to do, easy to follow orders and never have to really, truly discover yourself. But when you were all alone with no rules and no grownups to tell you how to fold your napkin the true self-discovering really began.

Either you survived or you didn't.


End file.
